


The Recovery

by MintyFrosty



Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Henry Stickmin Series: Completing the Mission, Revenged Ending | R (Henry Stickmin), toppat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26102359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintyFrosty/pseuds/MintyFrosty
Summary: After Right Hand Man's defeat by Mr Henry Stickmin, he wasn't exactly in a 'living' condition. But, it was nothing a bit of cyborg enhancements couldn't fix.
Relationships: Reginald Copperbottom/Right Hand Man
Comments: 8
Kudos: 144





	The Recovery

**BEEP**

**BEEP**

**BEEP**

**[RESTART: ENGAGE]**

**[HEART RATE: 61 BPM]**

**[BLOOD PRESSURE: NORMAL]**

**[BRAIN ACTIVITY: LOW]**

**[LEVEL OF STRESS: 12%]**

Warning signs echoing in his ears with a blurry vision was one of the last things the Toppat's Right Hand expected to see when he woke up. Well, that was to say _if_ he woke up. Quite frankly, that wasn't something he was expecting. With the grinning face of Henry Stickmin opposite of him, he fell unconscious, believing that was his end. And yet, here he was, shaking the sleepiness out of his system, left hand moving to his face to try and remove the aching headache that was torturing his head. The soft texture he was lying on seemed to imply he was on a bed. How the hell did that happen?

And what the hell were the messages floating in front of him? It was almost like a digital screen.

"да, welcome back." Came a feminine voice from in front of him, causing him immediately jump with surprise. Well. 'Jump with surprise' resulting in his sitting up straight, back colliding hard with the wall behind the bed. A woman. Blonde hair. Glasses. Doctor's coat. Russian accent. Unfamiliar.

**[LEVEL OF STRESS: 34%]**

"Hey, easy, easy! Hey!" Commented the lady, quickly rushing over to him and patting down his right hand. The Right Hand Man couldn't register that he was panicking. Confusion swarmed his systems, the warning signs that floated in front of him. Who was this woman? What on earth was she doing in the Toppat's base? And, from what he gathered, the _hell_ was she doing in _his_ room? Unsure of himself, the right-hand man tried to focus on something more solid; something that had an answer to. The first thing his mind jumped to was the feeling of the woman's arm on his arm. Oddly, he didn't feel it. Well, of _course_ , he felt it but in the sense that his arm felt numb. As if he were flying but standing firmly on the ground. However, he soon found the reason as to why his eyes falling down the arm this 'doctor' had patted.

Metal.

Pure metallic plates covered the surface area of his right arm. His eyes were captured in the sight, cursed with the confusion of his lack of knowledge on the situation. Was he dreaming? The fingers of his left hand, which was still planted to his head, tightened, nails digging into, what he thought to be skin. But it wasn't. The sound of nails against metal met his ears.

**[LEVEL OF STRESS: 54%]**

"Hey Hey! Can you hear me?" Echoed the woman's voice, her fingers clicking in front of his face in an attempt to get his attention. His mind was caught in a spiralling curse of thoughts. He couldn't possibly fathom the idea that was being suggested to him. Gradually, to try and answer her question, he nodded his head, blinking with genuine confusion on his facial features. Or at least the human ones he had left. Somewhat satisfied, the doctor adjusted her glasses, letting the right-hand man's arm go. Immediately, he began to inspect it, twirling it in many ways to try and grasp the knowledge he failed to understand.

"You were quite lucky, see. Head not always easy to recover. However, I was able to bring you back to life. Your chief said you wounded in battle, да?"

So it was a result of Henry then.

However, for whatever reason deemed fit, nothing stuck out more in her statements than the word 'chief'. Reginald. Shit. A deep pit of panic sunk his stomach, a lump of uncertainty developing in his throat. The stress meter curiously bounced into the 60 percentages as the echoing sound of his heartbeat raced with speed. Uncertain of what to do, the doctor gestured her right hand over to the left of where her patient was sitting before taking a small step back. And as quickly as his heart was pumping, his eyes snapped to the left.

And there he was. Face hidden underneath one top hat (his chief one was missing), and cooing softly with the rhythmic breath of his sleep. He was, awkwardly, hanging off half of the bed; torso and arms on the mattress with his legs dangling off the side that connected to the floor. He was simply dressed in a white dress shirt with tux pants with all gloves and most accessories missing. From his positioning, his expression was unreadable since his fine top hat was hiding any facial features Reginald had to offer. Most surprising, however, was the large, slightly reddish, top hat that belonged to the one and only right-hand man, that was clutched tightly in his, ironically, right hand. An immense amount of pity came over the second in command. He was waiting. Waiting for him. With a flash flick of his head, and expression desperate, the right-hand man's eyes met the doctor's.

"'ow long--" A cough erupted from his throat. Hoarseness had invaded his throat. 

"'ow long 'as 'e been...?" Pitifully, she turned her head to the sleeping chief, then back at the right-hand man.

"You were unconscious for 2 weeks. I've only allowed visitors for 3 days before now since I finished operations." That was one of the last things he wanted to hear. In hindsight, 2 weeks and 3 days were _much_ better than 2 months or 2 years. However, it still wasn't a _good_ amount of time. Reginald got worried when the right-hand man slept in as if he was poisoned in his sleep, as ridiculous as that sounded. Yet, when he considered this, he had to wonder how Reginald hadn't gone insane yet. Shakily, he planted his right hand onto Reginald's back. He couldn't imagine what was going through his head in that whole period. Thankfully, since the right-hand man was miserably horrid with words, the doctor seemed to get the idea the two wanting to be alone and quietly took her leave. 

**[LEVEL OF STRESS: 67%]**

"Reg? Io." Trying to be as gentle as humanly possible, the second in command tugged the chief's shirt. Shortly after, a small 'meh' came from the Toppat leader, delicately moving out of the realm of sleep. With no haste, Reginald pulled himself onto the bed, sitting upright on his knees. With a final yawn leaving his lips, the first in command open his eyes, blinking slowly before locking eyes with the person who had awoken him. And his expression immediately transformed into despair. If the right-hand man thought that Reginald looked horrid without seeing his face, then he looked beyond dishevelled.

Right Hand Man had only seen Reginald's moustache messy twice in his life, and this was the second. Twists and knots made the chief's moustache curly, loose hairs sticking in almost every direction. Heavy bags sat under the chief's eyes accompanied by the slight, blotchy redness that covered his face. Whether instinctively or intentionally, the first in command moved the reddish hat close to his chest, a sudden way of indescribable emotion covering his features. _Oh, when he got his hands on Henry Stickmin._ Unstoppable anger followed through the second in command's system, the sound of his own heartbeat fueling the fire of the embers of rage within in. With the speed that could break the sound barrier, Reginald immediately broke into a fit of tears, breaking whatever anger flooding the Right Hand Man's system. Question after question. Concern after concern. Every fit of agony fit in his worries about the well being of the man in front of them.  
"Are you alright? Can you hear me? Y-You remember me right! She didn't wipe your memory, did she? Quick! How many fingers am I holding up! Can you still see me? Righty--"

"Jesus, calm down Reg." Interrupted the second in command, grasping ahold of both of his shoulders and slightly shaking him back and forth. Reginald quickly shut his mouth, caught on the last word he was trying to say. His throat went dry and his expression turned stiff, the right-hand man letting out a heavy sigh and waving his robotic hand back and forth."  
"'ey, see. I'm fine."

That did it.

Because the next thing he knew, Reginald dived into him, curling at his side and wrapping his arms around the cyborg's torso. This was one of those times where the right-hand man wished he knew how to handle the unpredictability of Reginald's emotions, or his own for that matter. Uneasy, the right-hand man placed a concerned left hand onto Reginald's back, rubbing it gently. He felt a harsh tug at his shirt.

"Don't you sca-re me like that again!" 

His voice was about as hoarse as his was, filled with such a tone, anyone could take pity on. He figured as such; he probably wouldn't've gotten much sleep either if the roles were reversed. With a hesitated sigh, the right-hand man, sunk against the pillows of the bed, his robotic arm tightly holding the chief. Out of the corner of his eye, however, the right-hand man was able to see the diamond-covered gold band on the fourth finger of Reginald's hand. He smirked, suddenly feeling grateful that he hadn't lost his left hand. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to feel the same gold band on his own fourth finger.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this pretty crappy fanfiction aaaaa  
> Yes, I ship Copperright. Deal with it.
> 
> For those who've already read this on Tumblr, it's slightly edited to fit the characters a bit more =v=


End file.
